In the non-air-con cars, large open windows drew in a lethal mix of crisp countryside air and exhaust fumes. Breathing in fossil-fuel toxins, I was lost in a petrochemical buzz, light-headed as a hypnotic procession of palm trees floated by rhythmically. On the train the hours are measured not by minutes but by the metronomic klik-klak of lurching carriages; even as you sleep your bearings are calibrated by the screech of wheels scraping rails and the psshhh of automatic doors. It isn’t the noise that wakes you up, but the silence that punctuates every train stop.